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by DeVereWinterton



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Episode: s02e01 Murder Most Scandalous, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 08:20:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14492790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeVereWinterton/pseuds/DeVereWinterton
Summary: 'She had, by now, often imagined what it had to be like; being intimate with him. Being able to touch him in ways that would have left Hugh Collings blushing all the way to the roots of his hair. But now that the moment apparently was upon them, quite by accident, her mind was thrown for a loop.'The events that should have occurred behind the curtains of Madame Lyon's hidden alcove.





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**Author's Note:**

> So I guess this is what happens when I toss realism and propriety right out of the window. I wrote this about 7 months ago, and never posted it because I disliked it most vehemently. But [Inzannatea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanna23/pseuds/Inzannatea%20) promised me that seven times is the charm when it comes to revisions. Here goes. Whatever smut obviously occurred during _Murder Most Scandalous_.

 

 

_‘Why, by god, does one spend one’s life according to conventions that constrict us like a tight costume and that prevent us from reaching the invisible soul, this dancer among the stars!’_

\- Rainer Maria Rilke

 

“Is taken!” She inwardly cringed at the sound of her own voice, smiling from ear to ear at Lena who’d inadvertently stumbled upon her and her, well, ‘dalliance’ of the evening.

“That was close.” As Lena closed the curtains and muttered an apology, laughing merrily as she disappeared from sight, Phryne turned to the man whose lap she currently occupied. It had been a way to distract him – all in the line of duty – and it had worked rather marvellously. Also, she was in his lap; a very welcome bonus, as far as she were concerned. Jack Robinson was such a stickler for the rules that she’d longed to corrupt him for quite some time. This appeared to be as good a start of the debauchery as any. She could hardly count this distraction as a deliberate ‘move’ on him (even though she had literally manoeuvred herself on top of the poor, unsuspecting man), and she would therefore consider it fair play.

“It still is.” He surprised her by actually taking her bait, lifting his eyebrows as if to emphasize his point. And rather, the position they were in. Although she was hardly an innocent ninny, a flutter of excitement passed through her body when she regarded him.

She suddenly realised three rather important things. One; she was in a private booth with Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, in the middle of a Gentleman’s Club. This was quite honestly the stuff her most recent dreams were made of. She was, in fact, sitting in his lap, which was rather ironic considering she had absolutely no idea where she stood with him these days (or any day, really). Two; his face had been smothered by her modest but firm breasts in the process of creating her diversion. And was that his _mouth_ on her right breast? She had to admit: it was creating a rather well- _rounded_ diversion in and of itself.

And last but certainly not least: he was aroused.

She could feel the beginnings of his erection nudging ever so slightly against her most intimate of areas.

It threw her, and not many things would. The stoic, dour Detective Inspector was apparently not all _that_ unaffected by the power of the feminine. Judging from the hot lump between her legs, he was actually _quite_ affected already. Naturally, she was aware of the fact that he was a man and that men got erect when aroused. But with Jack, it was different somehow. They had only been talking up until she had all but thrown herself at him. Did he find their conversation _that_ stimulating?

She knew she did. All the time. It was rather distracting, really.

She’d noticed him, the night before, as she’d performed her fan dance. She hadn’t expected him to be present at the club at that exact moment, but when she’d spotted him in the crowd, at the back of the darkened room, she couldn’t deny the extra effort she’d started putting into her routine. She had purposely avoided direct eye contact, but her main focus had been on him whilst she’d performed. The hunger she’d detected in his eyes had aroused her, his lust thinly veiled by professionalism, curiosity and dare she say; a flicker of amusement?

Perhaps the idea of her in a costume did something for him (and obviously _to_ him)? She filed this piece of information away for further evaluation at a later time.

She had, by now, often imagined what it had to be like; being intimate with him. Being able to touch him in ways that would have left Hugh Collings blushing all the way to the roots of his hair. But now that the moment apparently was upon them, quite by accident, her mind was thrown for a loop. She had hoped that perhaps, somewhere along the line, something would happen between her and the righteous Inspector. It certainly hadn’t been for her lack of trying. She had other options, of course, but something about him always intrigued her. It wasn’t that she’d planned out a slow seduction of any kind _just_ yet, but she certainly would never have expected it would’ve been so easy to get him in this state. This opportunity certainly was too good to pass up, as her body appeared to have its own agenda after she’d felt his hungry gaze caressing her body from afar. It no longer felt the need to deny itself what it had wanted for so long. She was ready, she realised with a start, and she wanted him now. The knowledge that they could be caught at any given moment only added to her excitement.

A dull throb made its presence known at the apex of her thighs.

She felt suddenly lightheaded with desire for him. Then again, how sudden was it, really? She’d coveted some private one-on-one time with him for longer than she cared to remember. It had always been there, from the moment they’d met; a sensual burn, a waltz. Slow and close. She just didn’t expect this moment to be happening here, or now. Yet, she felt empowered and wanted at the same time; it was quite an intoxicating combination, causing whatever was left of her propriety to quickly dwindle and diminish. Her right hand had strayed from the loose grip on his left shoulder to wrap around his nape, absent-mindedly playing with the short hairs she found there.

He grabbed her by the hips then, no doubt noticing that she was now, in fact, very much aware of his current predicament and had not done anything to alleviate a certain pressure. He tried to push her off of his lap, get away and save himself the inevitable embarrassment. Phryne, caught unawares, clamped her thighs down on his upper legs and grabbed onto his shoulders in an attempt to steady herself, gasping, as he attempted to rise. This caused them to be exactly where they’d started; back on the velvet red sofa, but with their hips now even more splendidly (Phryne) and horrifyingly (Jack) aligned. Their tumble caused his hips to push up into hers as he’d attempted to straighten as she’d pressed down, preventing herself from toppling over. His semi-erect cock collided with her short, satin tap-pants, pressing against her wet entrance. The friction was delicious; his hands still on her hips, her chest pressed close to his face as she held onto him for dear life, her heat connecting with his hot length.

She moaned at the sudden intense and intimate contact, low and deep, unable to stop the sound from escaping her lips as she threw her head back, baring her neck to him. She bit her bottom lip in an effort to keep quiet. God, she’d always figured he would feel good against her, but _this_! She was normally much more in control of situations like this, but it seemed with Jack very little was required to make her lose her mind. Logic flew right out of the window as propriety and their current work-relationship followed it. She became nothing but her body, simply feeling and enjoying the man beneath her. Enjoying Jack, as he was apparently enjoying himself quite a bit. He was hardening underneath her and she squirmed, attempting to grind against his rigid cock, swivelling her hips. If she could get it just right, she was sure she—

“Miss Fisher!” he hissed between clenched teeth, trying to keep his voice down. Upon hearing her name on his lips, not Lulu's, she should have been alarmed, worried that he'd blow her cover. Yet she found she didn't give a damn. If anything, it added fuel to her fire. For him to let her name slip, he surely had to be affected! To be called out by her last name, admonished, as if she’d done something naughty...

Well. Perhaps she had. Her inner muscles clenched, hard.

Then again, perhaps she had misinterpreted his response. His body seemed more than willing to please her, but his mind was another matter. Although she wasn’t exactly sure where he stood when it came to her and their relationship, she knew there was something there.

She regarded him for a short moment, seizing her maddening movements, and found herself captivated by him. They appeared to find themselves at an impasse; his hands still on her hips, unsure whether to push her away or pull her closer, his hands flexing, his body rigid. She, uncertain if she should continue. Her body demanding it, but her mind still unsure of the repercussions. She caught his gaze and was hardly surprised to find doubts written all over his handsome face.

But underneath those doubts, there was something else. The one thing he was desperately trying to cover up (pretty much a moot point, considering the fact that she was literally perched, none-too-delicately, upon the evidence); lust. He _wanted_ her. Maybe his mind had not completely caught up with his body, but judging from his state, his physique was more than ready to have its way with her.

For now, that would have to make do.

She gave him a heavy-lidded look as she slowly ground down on him, deliberately, catching him off-guard, then speeding up. Trying to create that delicious friction that had left her feeling bereft when he’d halted her furious motions, taking control of the situation and deciding for the both of them. She could feel the head of his cock through his grey woollen trousers, brushing up against her cleft, the ridge of it teasing against her clit through her satin fabric. It was enough to drive her mad with want.

“ _Phryne_...” he choked out, his voice gravelly with desire and pent up frustration. His hands tightened on her hips, not yet actively participating.

Hearing him utter her first name, she was overcome by the sudden urge to kiss him. He pressed up against her, instinctively, seemingly surprised by his own actions, and she couldn’t hide the affection on her face, even if she’d tried. Yet, despite what they were doing, it seemed too intimate, wrong – somehow – to touch her lips to his. To mingle her breath, her heartbeat, with his. After their stolen kiss at Café Répliqué she’d found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss him, slowly, sensuously...or hard and passionately, leaving them both breathless? In a more intimate setting, of course.

The current setting might’ve been intimate enough, but it just didn’t feel right. Not here, not now. But then _when_? Why was she even considering this, another possibility to be this close to him? To touch him, have him hold her, to be even more intimate with him, but on a whole different level?

She settled for loosening the string of her hat, tossing it behind her, uncaring, and burying her face in his neck, instead, as he chose this particular moment to close his lips around her left nipple through her dress, giving in to this insanity. She inhaled his scent; sweat, a faint trace of his cologne, arousal and something uniquely _Jack_. Her mouth watered and she couldn’t stop her tongue from darting out of her red-waxed lips, licking the spot just below his ear, tasting him.

This appeared to spur him on, as he redoubled his effort on her breast, then switching to its twin whilst massaging the other with his large hand. It covered the entire mound, encompassing it, kneading it. His teeth soon followed his ministrations, and when he bit down on her nipple, she was gone, the static of her beaded dress and his hot mouth too delicious on her skin.

She went wild.

“Mmm, _yes_ , Jack... Touch me, please, I need you to—” she panted, explicitly begging him and not caring, for all intents and purposes dry-humping his still clothed erection and not giving one damn about propriety. She wanted him, needed him to finish what they’d started, their sensual dance transformed into a needy, greedy tango. Grinding against him was lovely, but she needed more from him.

She needed his extraordinarily beautiful fingers inside of her cunt and she needed them now.

 

***

 

Jack, on the other hand, was in hell.

He imagined he was as hot as hell, as well, as he was positively sweltering inside his three-piece suit.

He was facing some serious issues here. The woman he desired was in his lap, panting, writhing and moaning with desire for him. Him! Jack Robinson. And even though he was thrilled (and painfully aroused beyond the point of no return), the part of his brain that could still remember his own name told him this was probably not the greatest idea he’d ever had. Technically, it had been _her_ idea, but if only he hadn’t been, _well_...she might not have been all this, shall we say, inspired.

It was a paradox (wasn’t it?). He didn't want to be in this situation, yet at the same time, he very much did. He didn't want this to be fast and frenzied, yet it appeared to be the one thing they both needed. Desperately. It probably wasn't all that surprising, given their slow dance that had lead up to this point. The way they’d moved around each other, sometimes meeting in the middle, pushing and pulling, twisting and turning. It was enough to drive a lesser man insane with need.

He’d wanted to kiss her every since he’d first laid eyes on her in that Turkish bathhouse, dressed in only a towel and her skin damp, although he’d hardly known her then and realized this had mostly been an impulse spurred on by lust. The lack of female...company. After their kiss (‘distraction, all in the line of duty’) at the Café, well, naturally he’d wanted to kiss her again. To feel the soft press of her lips, the warmth of her tongue, duelling with his for control, to taste her on his own tongue.

But this was Phryne, and however lovely all of this was, and however strong the urge to just take off his trousers and smalls and be with her, inside of her wet heat, this would change everything. He’d be a fool to believe everything would stay the same after this. Whatever this was. Things were changing between them rather rapidly and he feared the ramifications of his actions, yet his body did not seem to care as much.

He wanted to say something profound, quote Shakespeare, procure anything that wasn't an unintelligible groan. But his brain had turned to mush in favour of the current lascivious onslaught. All he could think about was the feeling of her lovely breasts, his face pushed forward into her chest, as he took her nipple into his mouth through the fabric of her dress, sucking on the tight bud. Her breasts had haunted his mind after seeing them for the first time in quite the public display. The real thing far surpassed his imaginings. That little bud had been taunting him and it would have to pay for misbehaving. If her mewls and groans were the last thing he’d ever hear, he could die a happy man.

When he’d seen her on stage those few days ago, dancing with those feathers, he'd wanted to lock her away in a room, to only be gazed upon by his hungry eyes. But that would be wrong, because he'd be no different from the leering crowds that visited this establishment. Then again, he didn't want to just take her away for his own sake. He cared for her, and if there were anything he could do to keep her safe, he would without a second thought.

The fact that he’d wanted to do unspeakable things to her body ever since he’d seen her in that Cleopatra costume didn’t help matters at all.

He’d taken himself in hand that night in the shower, painfully hard and terribly ashamed. It had only taken a few firm strokes of his right hand to tumble over the edge into the blissful abyss, the image of her, clad only in that impossibly short skirt (was that even a skirt?) and her breasts and dusky pink nipples still fresh in his mind. He’d felt mortified afterwards; it was one thing to think about her, to appreciate her beauty. Lustful thoughts could even be tolerated every once in a while, but to actually actively _please_ _himself_ to thoughts of her body was just wrong. It felt like a great disrespect to her as a person, as his partner in crime, and he’d resented himself for it.

It had been the most powerful orgasm he’d experienced in over a year, though.

After the divorce from Rosie, and even quite some time before the actual signing of the papers, he hadn’t been intimate with a woman. It probably had by now been close to two years since he’d had intimate relations. Meeting women at the sort of establishment he currently found himself at, was just not for him. It was definitely not an ordinary occurrence for him, and neither was his current predicament. With Rosie, of course he’d thought about her in somewhat lewd ways, especially during the earlier years of their marriage, but his mind had never strayed as far into the depraved as it did when Miss Fisher was on his mind. With Rosie, sex had eventually become a practical activity in order to conceive, and when this didn’t appear the be in the cards for them, it had become somewhat of an obligation. It wasn’t that Rosie had been a cold, uncaring lover. Not at all, in fact. Although she wasn’t very adventurous and often adverse to his suggestions, he’d found their intimate activities satisfying. But after the war, things had just been very...difficult. With Miss Fisher, everything having to do with the act seemed to be sensual and heady; from the undoing of a button to the fleeting touches on his arm.  
  
He barely suppressed a groan at the thought of simply bending her over the sofa, her stance wide, his hands on her hips. He wondered if she would be willing to let him have his way, being in a submissive position. Stroking her, her behind in the air, impatiently wiggling with arousal. He longed to slap her naked arse and felt depraved for desiring it so much. He wanted to feel her ivory pale skin redden and heat up, watch her cheek jiggle from the impact of his hand. He wanted to spank her in quick succession for all the times she'd disobeyed him – including this ridiculous undercover act – and gotten herself into trouble, before grasping his cock and sinking into her dripping heat from behind in one firm stroke, impaling her on his length. Dominating her, but mostly; pleasing her and thereby pleasing himself.

He’d never before acted upon his baser urges in such a way and he felt it was starting to work against him, all of his wants and needs accumulating, bursting forth (almost literally) in this one moment. It was insanity. Here she was, dressed up in another one of her costumes, pretending to be someone else and it was almost too easy to forget that by the next morning, she’d once again become the Lady Detective he’d come to know and... _what_ , exactly?  
  
He trailed his hands down her upper legs, and then back up and underneath her dress, gathering it at her waist. Tracing her stockings, coming across the hilt of her dagger, touching the lacy edges until he reached the bare skin of her thighs. The impossibly soft skin of her beautiful thighs. Holding her backside in his large hands, marvelling at the feel of the supple flesh.

He pressed against her, showing her how much he wanted her. How much he wanted to be inside of her, knowing it was wrong but no longer able to deny his needs, his feelings. Not bothering with pleasantries, instead roughly pulling her underwear to one side to rub his fingers through her slippery folds at her wantonly uttered request to touch her. She hissed. Sliding his index finger into her, he marvelled at her heat.

“ _Fuck_...God, Phryne, you’re dripping.” He bit his lip and sounded almost surprised, even to his own ears, aghast, if it weren’t for the deep timbre in which he’d uttered the phrase . He’d almost forgotten how wet women could get. He’d done that to her. He felt a strange sense of masculine pride at finding her so very willing and ready. She was just so wonderfully tight and slick and hot, her muscles clamping onto his digit as they fluttered around his finger. His cock throbbed.

From now on he would never be able to look at her and not wonder whether or not she was soaking her underwear as he spoke to her about a case, the weather, Aunt Prudence.

Well, maybe not Aunt Prudence.

 

***

 

She could tell he had absolutely no objections or scruples about finding her so ready for him, so wanton, his voice rough and his manhood stirring beneath her. In the past she’d often found certain expressions would put her off, clichés meant to sound seductive but generally simply made her want to smack her face in frustration. With Jack, however, she found his dirty mouth to be most stimulating indeed. He was just so honest, open, vulnerable and raw...

She keened, incredibly and impossibly turned on by his cussing, moaning as his invading finger showed her no mercy right from the start. He began a quick and steady rhythm of deep thrusts with his right hand, all the while pushing her down onto his thick cock with his left hand on her thigh. The crotch of her underwear unceremoniously pushed out of the way. It lacked finesse and bespoke his of eagerness to get inside of her, to touch her. It aroused her beyond reason. It was filthy and dirty and exactly how she wanted it.

Adding a second finger to the first, he started to piston them in and out of her body at a magnificent rate. She groaned, riding his fingers. She was sure she had to be dripping down onto the front of his trousers, but he didn’t seem to care. The thought of the buttoned-up, impeccable Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson walking around with a stain of her secretions on his pants excited her even more. He was pushing her towards the precipice, fast and hard, as though he were attempting to punish her for her sinful behaviour. For having put him in this position. As though she’d forced him into it and he’d had no other choice but to comply.

Not that he appeared to be complaining.

The only thing he appeared to be focusing on was the way his fingers disappeared inside of her needy body, her moisture and his movements causing a sordid sound of suction. She hardly recognised him, and she wondered briefly if he were to recognise himself in this moment. His brow furrowed in concentration, panting harshly in tandem with the thrusts of both his hands and hips, his jaw slack as he seemed intent on bringing her pleasure in the most raw of ways. He alternated between pushing his fingers in at a rapid pace, and pushing his probing fingertips against the spongy tissue below her pubic bone. Every so often, he dipped them into her to pull them out and coat her labia in her own juices, rubbing her clit with his thumb. Alternating between rubbing her, or spreading her lips open wide with his thumbs to ease the access of his long fingers. He was learning her, she realised. Investigating her body, trying to figure out whatever kind of touch would please her the most, would push her over the edge. She whimpered and felt herself grow even wetter, her own moisture liberally coating her upper thighs, climbing swiftly towards that climax. God, he had talented hands and her fantasies about what he could do with those elegant fingers...Well, the real thing far outshone her lively imagination, which was saying something.

She bit her lip, glancing down the same time he looked up. Dear _God_ , he was about as far gone as she and it was glorious. She mewled.

She clamped down on his digits, grinding her pelvis into his, causing him to buck up into her as he quickly removed his fingers from her sopping cunt. His face buried in her neck, his mouth near her left ear, his breathing irregular as he panted and growled softly, planting open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat, sucking at her collarbone. The sound of his groans alone nearly could have been her undoing. He bucked his hips into hers in earnest and could almost imagine them being naked, the slapping sound of flesh on flesh as he would thrust his cock into her waiting body. She was leaving a rather impressive wet spot on the front of his trousers, although he was fairly certain some of that moisture was his own. He was trying his damnedest not to come in his pants like a randy teenager, but found he couldn’t quite stop the pre-come leaking from his penis, staining his pants. How he longed to just undo his trouser fastenings, push down his smalls and let her sink down onto his cock, the weeping head swallowed by her greedy cunt.

He growled against her neck, an almost feral sound, scraping his teeth across her pulse point.

“Jack...I- God...I—” she moaned, low and deep.

“You’re going to come, aren’t you, Miss Fisher?” he ground out softly, not skipping a beat despite his intense arousal, the beating of his own heart in his ears drowning out most sounds.

Her inarticulate, smothered cry was perfection, but not the answer he was looking for.

“Aren’t you, _Phryne_? You’re so wet. I could touch you like this all day. With just my fingers...or perhaps you’d prefer all of me?” His voice was raspy with lust, skittering along her nerve-endings and setting her entire body ablaze. He even managed to surprise himself with that one. He normally wasn’t one to talk much during sex, but the way she quivered when he spoke was an aphrodisiac in and of itself.

His words were turning her on beyond reason: she’d had no idea he’d be quite so talkative but she wasn’t complaining.

“Ngh... _more_ , Jack...” She was just so damn _close_.

He pushed up as she ground down, digging his fingers into her arse (she was fairly certain he was going to leave her with a few bruises), changing the angle and causing their pelvises to meet on a particular hard thrust on his part as he slammed his cock upwards. His hard ridges colliding with her soft heat. It was too fast, too soon and too much. It was _Jack_ , and it unravelled her. He bit her earlobe and she could swear he ordered her to come, as her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave. It was ridiculous, really. Phryne Fisher did not come on command, but apparently all rules were out the window when it came to ‘Magical Fingers Jack’. He had the presence of mind to press his right thumb into her folds, rubbing her clit with his thrumming fingers as she came with a harsh cry, which she attempted to smother in his neck. Teeth sinking into the collar of his jacket, whilst clutching his shoulders, her nails digging into his upper back.

Even muffled in his neck, it was probably one of the filthiest, animalistic sounds he’d ever heard in his life. He’d never been so turned on by vocalisations during sex.

_Sex._

Oh, dear God.

 

***

 

Her mind floated somewhere between earth and space, where there was no presence of time and nothing seemed to matter. Her body felt numb and heavy, yet it tingled with the recent orgasm that had wracked her body, but had caused it so much pleasure at the same time.

“ _Jesus_ , Phryne...”

His muttered phrase and the mention of her first name in _that_ raspy voice brought her back to reality. She whimpered softly as he removed his fingers from her folds, already missing the contact.

He held her then, his arms draped loosely around her, his cock still rock hard, pulsing and nudging at her entrance as she lay, draped on top of him and completely spent. Both breathing heavily; her from release, him from denying himself his.

He’d been so close himself, and he considered it somewhat of a small miracle that he hadn’t come inside of his pants.

They were both still fully dressed, save from the crotch of her underwear that had been pulled to one side to grant access to his wonderful fingers, her dress bunched up around her waist from when she’d first jumped into his lap. She noticed he was reaching for the handkerchief in his pocket. As he made an attempt to wipe his fingers clean of her moisture, she grabbed hold of his hand, halting his movements. Instead, she took each one of those long, beautiful digits into her mouth one by one; silently thanking them for bringing her so much pleasure. Swirling her tongue around his probing fingers until she’d cleaned them all of any remnants of their little...adventure. She could feel his cock throbbing in response as he looked at her through heavily lidded eyes. His pupils were so dilated, she could barely distinguish the blue of his irises.

After thoroughly cleaning his hand with her mouth, she almost timidly moved her right hand down his firm chest (and God, _why_ was he still dressed?!), down to the waistband of his pants, further still, to brush the front of his trousers. His length strained against his fly, the prominent bulge causing her to lick her lips in quiet anticipation. His sharp intake of breath was like music to her ears. He was never one to show a lot of emotion and she couldn’t wait to see him unravel before her very eyes, to watch him come undone (quite literally) by means of her hands, her mouth, and preferably her cunt. It throbbed in agreement. She figured the latter would have to wait though, as this was hardly the perfect environment for something like that. Well, actually, it _was_ the perfect environment, but somehow it felt wrong to do that here.

With Jack.

She wanted it, whatever it was, to be...not _this_. Not here, and not now. Considering he wasn’t, as of yet, inside of her, stretching her and stroking her body into what was sure to be madness, she figured he felt the same way. Also, there was the tiny matter of family planning that had to be considered. As dancing was the only thing she was offering at the club – current company excluded – she wasn’t exactly as prepared as she’d liked to be.

So instead, she settled for starting up a slow rhythm, rubbing him through his trousers, the wool and the fabric of his smalls probably creating some kind of lovely friction on his length. His eyes fluttered shut as his head fell back, exposing his throat, a moan escaping him. His brow furrowed as his right hand suddenly and swiftly clamped down on hers. He appeared to be torn between stopping her and forcing her to continue, his eyes wide as if not actually believing he was still here and that the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher actually had her hand on his hard cock. She smiled at him, pleading with him to let her continue what she’d started, desperate to return the favour. Not to settle the scores, but because she wanted to give him the same kind of pleasure he had just bestowed upon her. Her insides still fluttered at the recollection of his hands and the promise of his hot length inside of her mouth.

He slowly released his clamp of doom on her hand, and she felt oddly victorious. She squeezed him for good measure, his large hand still covering hers. The touch of his hand felt...intimate, regardless of what they were doing. She could feel the heat of his hand and the heat of his manhood, her own small hand sandwiched in-between. His muffled curse uttered in that desperate, breathless tone of voice did not disappoint, igniting her body once more. The kindling flame brought back to life, merely by use of his voice? His eyes caught hers, holding her gaze captive by their intensity. She dare not look away as he began to move his hand, showing her, teaching her how he liked to be stroked. She couldn’t breathe.

This man.

She wanted to touch him, taste him and take him inside of her. She wanted to merge their bodies until lines and boundaries became blurred. She didn’t think she’d ever before desired a man on so many different levels, all at the same time. It was quite daunting, really.

And what did it all mean, wanting to be this _close_?

Suddenly, there was a commotion on the other side of the little cocoon that was their private booth. It appeared one of the punters was not pleased with the service of something or other, as the sound of breaking glass and a girl’s voice (a lot of angry yelling and shouting) could be heard.

The fog cleared, as they both realised they were still holding each other and anyone could have walked in at any moment.

His tight grip on her hand loosened ever so slightly, looking up at her; part expectant, part mortified.

This man. This wonderful, impeccable, positively wicked man. Was there no end to his mystery?

She was all of a sudden struck by the notion that she didn’t know where all of this left them, exactly, and it wasn’t that she didn’t feel the need to think about this. Just, well, not now. The argument out there appeared to turn rather heated and she was still undercover (and still _barely_ covered where it mattered most, but that was a different matter altogether).

Placing her hands on his broad shoulders once more, she looked at him then, _really_ looked at him. Their eyes met and she knew he understood; they would talk about this, and maybe do more than talk, but now was hardly the right time. She smirked ever so slightly, wiggling her hips against his, teasing him. He was still very hard, and he groaned, stilling the movements of her hips with his large hands. Cupping her backside and grasping her arse cheeks hard, as a warning, kneading the supple flesh he found there. His look was one of authority, trying to reprimand her but failing miserably because of the lustful glint in his eyes. He pinched her arse, and she yelped, shooting him a playful grin.

 

***

 

They were detectives, and he knew she had to be absolutely _dying_ to find out what was going on out there. Maybe even more so than trying to find out what was going on inside his trousers. Perhaps that was a case they could solve at a more opportune moment. And location.

“Give me a good head start?” she asked him, taking the handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away the smudge of her red lipstick on his neck before inserting it into her décolletage.

“As always,” he replied, before straightening his tie, raising his eyebrow whilst trying (and failing) not to look at her breasts.

She stood, righting her underwear in the process, giving him a small and very deliberate peek of her most intimate place, her pink flesh beckoning him underneath her black curls, still glistening slightly. The place he’d touched, mere minutes ago. He’d actually given her one of the raunchiest orgasms of her life by use of his fingers alone, without even taking out his manhood and while still being fully clothed. Her former lovers had managed to please her in many ways that would surely leave his mind reeling. But this was Jack, and therefore it was already different from anything she had experienced previously. She didn’t exactly know why, precisely, but it simply was.

It felt...different, and not just physically.

He had the audacity to blush, a slight hue of pink tinting his cheeks.

She sauntered off then, picking up her discarded hat in the process before opening the curtains, looking over her shoulder to see him taking a few calming breaths, no doubt trying to regain some sort of composure. She reckoned he was willing his erection away by sheer willpower, and her heart warmed at the sight of it. He was just so correct and she found it adorable. She pushed her way through the curtains, allowing him some time to himself, as she threw herself into the excitement of the argument between Lola and some unidentified slob.

Their dance was like a waltz; slow and close. She felt like tonight had been a big step in the right direction, but found that in her mind she was already moving towards their next one.

**Author's Note:**

> So this. I guess.


End file.
